


Long-Lasting Romantic Endeavours

by thewalrus_said



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 11:16:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7974856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewalrus_said/pseuds/thewalrus_said
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A visit from an old friend, jealousy, miscommunication, and breakfast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long-Lasting Romantic Endeavours

Laurence kissed his mother’s cheek and Edith Woolvey’s hand, passing them each up into the carriage. His nephews and Edith’s son scrambled up on their own, and the carriage pulled away. Once the dust settled, Laurence steeled himself and went inside.

Tharkay was nowhere to be found, rendering Laurence’s tension unnecessary. He took supper alone, maintaining his calm through the last bite; his temper snapped as his knife and fork lowered to the table.

It was a quarter of an hour before he found the other man, holed up in his library with a tumbler of whiskey in hand - Laurence suspected it was not his first. “Ah, Laurence,” Tharkay said, sharp eyes belying his steady voice. “Come and have a drink with me.”

“I must ask an explanation for your behavior these past few days.” Laurence found himself falling into perfect naval stance, a pose which had kept him on his feet during the worst storms of his career. The look on Tharkay’s face promised such a tumult now.

“My behavior?” Tharkay put his tumbler back on the counter next to the whiskey bottle and straightened. “And what, pray tell, is so concerning to you about my behavior?”

There was a note in his voice that Laurence did not like. “I speak, sir, of your rudeness to our guest, Mrs. Woolvey.” Tharkay scoffed. Laurence went on, “You barely spoke two words to her together, and you know it. You very nearly gave her the cut direct at breakfast, Tenzing!”

Tharkay scowled. “Of course you would see anything less than effusive praise and condescension to be rudeness, where Mrs. Woolvey is concerned - ” He cut himself off and rubbed a hand over his face. He took a deep breath, and then another, and then said, low, “Forgive me, Will. You’re correct, of course. I have no excuse.”

Laurence blinked at the abrupt change in Tharkay’s demeanor. “I am glad to hear you admit it, at least, although I doubt your lack of excuse. You have always seemed to me fully in touch with your emotions, and in control of them.”

Tharkay’s mocking smile made an appearance then, although Laurence rather felt it was aimed inwards. “Jealousy makes fools of us all.”

Laurence gaped for a moment at this statement; Tharkay himself visibly started at the words which had escaped his lips. “My dear fellow,” Laurence managed, floundering. “I must assure you that whatever my past feelings, I have no - no intentions towards Mrs. Woolvey. I had no idea of any feelings of yours towards her, but please believe - ”

Tharkay held up a hand to cut him off, downing the rest of his whiskey with the other. “I must beg your silence, Laurence, before your nobility damns me further.” He set the tumbler down and sighed. “I am for my bed, I believe. You will have no more sense from me tonight. Good night, Will. I  _ am _ sorry.” He clapped Laurence’s shoulder as he went, hand lingering.

\---

Laurence tossed in his bed for another half-hour before giving it up as a bad job and dressing. The dawn was still an hour out, but Temeraire, without the exertions of long flights or battle to wear him out, had been sleeping less since their retirement, and would likely be awake.

Temeraire was indeed awake, contemplating the roof of his pavilion with a critical gaze. “Good morning, Laurence,” he said, not taking his eyes from it. “Do you suppose it would be possible to have the underside of the roof painted? Only it’s made of several different colors of stone, you see, and I find it difficult to look at for too long.”

“It could be done indeed, I suspect, although you may have to vacate the pavilion for the duration of the work. Spring is not far, if you can wait that long.” Laurence stepped into the pavilion and looked up; indeed, he could see a subtle gradation in color.

Temeraire huffed, pulling his eyes from the roof at last. “I don’t see why it should still be so cold, when midwinter was so long ago,” he muttered, tucking his head disconsolately on his leg while leaving the other free for Laurence to clamber up onto. “But you are awake early, Laurence. Is something the matter?”

Laurence hummed, putting his hand on Temeraire’s snout. “Nothing the matter, as such. But there is something on my mind, yes. I was hoping to talk it out with you, if I can call upon your discretion?”

“Of course,” Temeraire said, slightly offended. “I am the soul of discretion, Laurence. I shall even refrain from whispering about it, as you find that indiscreet as well, although I’m sure I have no idea why.”

Laurence allowed himself a small smile. “I am glad to hear it. Do you recall, when my mother and Mrs. Woolvey came to visit, there was a period when Tharkay seemed....” he trailed off, trying to think of a politic way to phrase it. “Seemed not himself?” It had been three weeks since their departure, and Tharkay’s odd behavior and odder confession had lingered in Laurence’s thoughts as Tharkay’s hand had on his arm.

“Of course,” Temeraire said, huffing at the memory. “I was nearly ready to pull him aside and have a word with him myself, for how much he was distressing you. But I thought that might distress you further, so I restrained myself.”

“Again, your tact meets with my gratitude,” Laurence said dryly. He fell silent, thinking over the conclusion he had tentatively come to the night before, and said abruptly, “Temeraire, I once promised you that I would consult your feelings before embarking on a romantic endeavor.”

Below him, Laurence could feel Temeraire’s foreleg stiffen. “I recall it. Are you going to marry Mrs. Woolvey, then?”

Laurence shook his head, nearly laughing at the irony. “No, my dear. Once I might have liked nothing more, but that time is past.” He hesitated, then gathered himself and said, “I was rather thinking of Tharkay.” He had barely thought of anything else, in recent weeks.

“ _ Really. _ ” Temeraire lowered his head again, contemplative. “Well, that would be alright, then.”

“I confess I am surprised to hear you say so.”

“Well, there can be no business of marriage in that case. And he would certainly not wish you to spend less time with me, or insist on  _ children _ .”

There was such a distinct note of something near disgust in that last, that Laurence could not refrain from comment. “My dear, I thought you liked children. You enjoyed when my brother’s children came, and Mrs. Woolvey’s son.”

“That does not mean I want them around all the time,” Temeraire said reasonably. “Besides, I am retired, and will have no need of a captain once you are gone, so there is no call for you to have any.”

This had not occurred to Laurence; he put it aside for contemplation later, as Temeraire went on, “Besides, Tharkay is already one of my crew, or near enough, which makes him the best sort of person already; and he is wealthy. No, Laurence, if you want him, I see no reason why you should not have him.”

“There is the small matter of his reciprocal interest,” Laurence murmured. Over the past few weeks he had tossed and turned over Tharkay’s declaration of jealousy, combing through his memory for any indication of interest from the man towards Edith Woolvey. Long nights of contemplation had led him to conclude that none existed; even longer nights had persuaded him to believe the jealousy Tharkay had spoken of had been directed at Mrs. Woolvey, rather than about her. In the cold light of day, however, such imaginings were harder to believe. 

“Nonsense,” Temeraire huffed, breaking Laurence’s reverie. “Why should he not love you? He is a sensible fellow, and must see that you are the best of men.” He nosed at Laurence gently. Laurence patted him, and they sat in silence until hunger drove them both out of the pavilion.

Tharkay was awake by the time Laurence had seen Temeraire fed and cleaned, perusing a newspaper with coffee in hand. “Ah, good morning, Laurence.” Tharkay stood and walked to the sideboard. “I took the liberty of placing an order with the kitchen for you, despite your absence.” He poured a second cup of coffee and handed it to Laurence. “I trust my selection will be to your tastes.”

“I am sure it will, thank you.” Laurence took the cup and the front half of the newspaper, which Tharkay had already finished.

They had shared lodgings enough that Tharkay knew Laurence’s preferred breakfast order backwards and forwards, and Laurence Tharkay’s. Laurence eyed Tharkay over the table as they ate in companionable silence. The other man was in shirtsleeves, collar undone in the informality of his own home. His mouth curled up in a smirk occasionally as he scanned through the newsprint, fingers flicking to removing toast crumbs before turning a page.

Laurence made up his mind as the maid came to take the plates and Tharkay stood to return to his chambers. “Tenzing,” Laurence called, rising himself. Tharkay turned. “Is your schedule full today?”

“Why, not at all,” Tharkay said, puzzled. “I was planning to go over some of my father’s accounting, but I am perfectly at my leisure.”

“Then might we discuss something?” Laurence stepped towards him, glancing at the door to the kitchens. “In private?”

Tharkay’s brow furrowed further, but he ushered Laurence ahead of him and to his private rooms. “What is on your mind?”

Laurence took a breath. “Do you recall the matter we discussed a few weeks ago, in the library?”

Tharkay’s face darkened. “I do, much though I wish to forget it.”

“Do you?” Laurence asked. “I do not.” He took a step closer. “I hope you will forgive me, but I find I must ask for clarification on a statement you made.” Tharkay closed his eyes, wincing backward, but Laurence took another step. “I assumed for a time that the jealousy of which you spoke was aimed at me, and your heart was set on Edith Woolvey.”

“Please do not do this,” Tharkay whispered, still looking away.

“I think now that that assumption was incorrect.” He took another step forward. “I think now that I had your affections laid in the wrong place.”

Tharkay strode forward, making to pass Laurence; Laurence got a hand on his elbow and held him in place. “Please,” Tharkay said. “Continue in your initial assumption, I beg you.”

“Why?” Laurence caught his eye and held it. “I have never known you for a coward, Tenzing.”

“I would beg your leave to be one in this matter.”

There was panic in Tharkay’s eyes, barely masked with his best drawing-room manners; Laurence sighed and released him. “I had hoped to put you at ease. Forgive me the intrusion.”

Laurence stepped away, meaning to bury himself in Temeraire’s flank until his heart ceased beating to bring the foundations down. Tharkay let him get two steps and grabbed Laurence’s elbow in return. “What would you do, Laurence, with the knowledge you seek?”

Laurence looked at him. “I had hoped to act on it. In a way that would put us both at ease.”

Tharkay’s breath came out then, harsh and ragged. “Be certain, Will.”

“I am.” Laurence moved closer. “Will you tell me?”

“Your initial assumption was incorrect. The thought of you married to Mrs. Woolvey was nearly intolerable, but not for her sake.”

Laurence kissed him.

\--

Jane had never trembled or melted herself against him when they kissed, but Laurence, unconsciously, had assumed her an outlier in this, as she was in all things; Tharkay’s firm grim and unyielding spine therefore proved a surprise, and not an unpleasant one.

They took each other apart against the nearest wall, only retiring to a bed when both were panting, weak-kneed. Laurence spread out across the sheets, Tharkay unselfconsciously draping himself across Laurence in turn.

They lay in silence for nearly a quarter of an hour, before Laurence had the energy to mumble, “I find myself sorrier than before to have kept you waiting; I hope it was not long.”

Tharkay smiled; Laurence could feel it against his chest. “Not very. Merely five or six years; I seem to have lost count.” Laurence stiffened, and Tharkay pushed himself up on one elbow, smiling. “Ease yourself, Will. There was no pain, save in these last few weeks, and the outcome has proven itself worth the delay.”

Laurence could not find the energy to remain anxious, and Tharkay sank down again. “Although now that I am faced with the somewhat daunting task of telling Temeraire, perhaps a few more years would not have been so terrible.”

“There will be no need for that,” Laurence murmured, half-asleep already.

Tharkay pushed himself up again, frowning this time. “You do not wish him to know? I know dragons are not much for keeping secrets, but I had not thought you able to withhold information from him regardless.”

Laurence blinked heavily, putting up a hand to smooth the wrinkles marring Tharkay’s forehead. “I have already discussed the matter with him, my dear. We spoke of it this morning; you will face no trouble from that quarter.”

“You did?”

“Of course. I promised to gain his approval on any long-lasting romantic endeavours, after all.”

Laurence felt Tharkay press a kiss against his mouth and settle into his arms, before drifting into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I still cannot believe Novik did the thing.
> 
> Come flail with me on [tumblr](http://www.thewalrus-said.tumblr.com)!


End file.
